Easter at St Andrews
by Boston Manor
Summary: A seasonal one-shot, set in a small Sussex church, at Easter.


Hello again everyone. I thought you might welcome a seasonal one-shot. Usual disclaimers of course apply.

**Easter**

Sherlock Holmes had never been a great lover of grand occasions. He still could not recollect exactly how he had come to be there, in the small country church near the farmhouse where he was happily spending his retirement years. Watson had not been to see him for some time; but he was content, spending the days in relaxing study, enjoying the pure spring air of the Sussex Weald.

He was also somewhat pleased at his recent success in having been able to publish a new book expounding his theories regarding the social life of bees. The first royalty payment had arrived the previous morning and he had spent a productive hour in the local Post Office, not only paying in the banker's order but also helping old Mrs Abernethy of Frogmore Farm solve the mystery of what really happened to her purse which she had thought stolen the month before. It was those sorts of small triumphs which kept his incomparable talents honed, even in his advancing years.

It was probably the slow dawning realisation of the wonder of what he saw in his garden every day which had brought him, unbidden, to St Andrew's. The months he had spent studying the bees had clearly shown that their organisation and ability to carry out complex tasks, acting as though they were of one mind, even though they were many, had awakened in him a curiosity which he considered was not ably answered by the cumbersome suggestions of Mr Darwin.

So on that sunny Easter morning, unseasonably mild for the time of year, he found himself sitting in a wooden pew in the cool old church, looking round at his erstwhile companions in the congregation. A small child sat next to him, fidgeting and yet at the same time respectful of her surroundings. Whole families, many of whom he recognised from his perambulations around the local villages, were all met together.

Many of those he knew, he now saw in a new light. Mrs Abernethy, playing the wheezing organ – although not well. He smiled, not irritated at all. Strange. Perhaps old age was bringing with it the patience to deal with those whose talents were of no match for his own. Mr Knight from Downs Farm, dressed in robes and leading the small choir in their singing – tolerable. And of course the Reverend Fowler, seemingly as old as the hills themselves. As long as he had lived in Sussex, Holmes had seen him bustling around the villages, lending assistance, helping where he could. Many times he had seen him leading a small group as they made their way past the farmhouse, up the lane to the churchyard, to lay to rest another parishioner in the small churchyard alongside St Andrews. Vaguely Holmes recalled from his childhood the 'old' Reverend Fowler, the present incumbent's father, who had been so helpful to the Holmes brothers on the death of their parents in such tragic circumstances. But in all that time, he had never darkened the doors of the little church. He paused in his thoughts. Why not?

Today the Reverend Fowler's voice was strong. Obviously fully recovered from the influenza which he had been laid low with all winter, pondered Holmes; probably a good day of the church calendar to be back. Holmes settled himself back in the pew.

"On this Easter Sunday I want to stop and think – think deeply, good people." _Good_, thought Holmes. _Keeps the brain working_. " For I must ask - why do I call you 'good people'? For in truth we are not good. Scripture tells us, does it not, that 'all we like sheep have turned astray' and are far from our loving Heavenly Father."

Father. That glorious concept was one which the Holmes brothers had experienced for too short a time. It was at times like this – the big days of the calendars – when Holmes felt a pang of regret. Seeing families sitting around him brought home to him the plain truth – he was all but alone. Mycroft had been dead these last three years, Mrs Hudson of course before that; and although there were still familiar names in his life, the faces had changed. Lestrade of course, who had followed his late father into the Force; young and impulsive, yet willing to learn from the master – as he called Holmes, every time he visited on the pretext of 'keeping in touch' with his father's friend yet who always brought with him details of his latest cases, which the two of them solved over an evening meal. Young Gregson, similarly – still no love between him and Lestrade, just like their fathers!

Ah, the good old days. But at least there was still Watson.

"We're not 'good people' at all!" continued the Reverend. "How dare we say we are? We have the idea that God will let us into Heaven as long as we try hard enough. As long as we live good lives. As long as we are kind to each other. As long as we give our money to charity." He paused for a moment. "What utter rubbish."

Holmes could see others around him getting uncomfortable. With a start he found himself also wondering. He had never intentionally been 'evil' as such. Throughout his chosen career, he had always sought to help those in need ...

"We think God's standard is 'good'. It is not. My friends, God's standard is perfection. Heaven is perfect, so to get into Heaven we must be perfect." Again a pause. "But we are not, nor can we hope to be."

Holmes found himself sitting more upright. This made sense.

"We have a problem. It is in our nature that we have no interest in the things of God. We go our own way, choose to do what is right in our own eyes. Now perhaps that standard that we set ourselves is 'good', compared to other people we know, or read about. Better than the perpetrator of the latest crime we read about in the news paper. But as I said, God's standard is not 'good' or 'better than so-and-so'. He demands perfection, and if we are not perfect there is no hope of Heaven for us. So what can we do?" He looked out imploringly over the lectern at the faces of the congregation. "I will tell you. Nothing."

This was not what Holmes had hoped to hear. He had come here, knowing not why, in the vague hope of finding some answers.

"Why? Because God's revealed scripture tells us that we are all tarnished with evil. The Bible calls it 'sin'. This does not, my friends, refer to the 'big things' like murder, adultery, fornication; all the things in the ten commandments and the other laws besides. It means that every time I choose to do something I want to do, rather than what God wants me to do – every time I show by my thoughts, attitudes or actions that I, not God, am in control of what I do and what I make of my life – that is sin. And God says that puts a barrier between Him and us that cannot be overcome. A barrier that carries a heavy and serious penalty – 'the wages of sin is death', and 'without the shedding of blood there is no payment for sin'. It is not something that God can ignore. Our state of sin means that we cannot make ourselves right with God. Again, the Bible talks of us as being 'dead in our trespasses and sins' towards God. That is bad news."

Holmes quietly agreed. He had seen enough dead bodies in the course of his career to understand the imagery. Dead bodies just lay there – they could do nothing for themselves. He knew enough from his short Sunday School days what was coming next. He understood what that meant. Perhaps he had known it all along.

"But Easter, my friends, is good news. The 'good news' of the Gospel story. In our sin, we are separated from God, heading for an eternity without Him. We are powerless to do anything about it – in fact all our efforts to 'gain favour' with God only serve to alienate us from Him all the more. 'All our righteousness is as filthy rags'. So God has done what we could not. He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to pay the price of blood that we could not. He was nailed to the cross and received in His body the full punishment for all the sins of mankind, before and after."

The air in the small church was still, charged with expectation.

"And when we finally accept the truth of that situation – that we are powerless, lost in our sins, separated from God, deserving of punishment; but that God in His great love has taken the punishment for our sin and rebellion in the body of His Son – then we can indeed know that state which the Bible calls 'salvation'. The Bible talks of Christ's righteousness being 'credited ' to us – in other words, my dear friends, when we take God at His word and accept that the only thing we can do is fall on His mercy – it is then that, to all intents and purposes, our sin and the penalty it deserves is exchanged for the perfection of what Jesus Christ has done. In God's sight, we become just like Jesus – perfect. And so the way to Heaven is open to us. Through what God has himself done."

No-one stirred.

"And that is why, my friends, Easter is a 'good news' story. God Himself changes the 'bad news' – the worst news – into the best news we could imagine. And it is free to us. We merely accept the work of Jesus as the sacrifice God requires as the payment for our sin, and we are instantly transferred from this present kingdom – the earthly kingdom of death and decay – to the heavenly kingdom of eternal joy and perfection."

He drew himself up to his full height. Not great, but he seemed to tower over them all.

"So, this Easter, what are you going to do about what God has done? Are you going to ignore it? Sit on the fence? Or make a decision – a decision to take God at His word and accept his free offer of salvation?"

Holmes left the church into the bright Easter morning sun – to see Watson standing there, waiting.

"My good fellow, what a surprise!" exclaimed Holmes. "You are most welcome!"

Watson looked his friend up and down with a smile. "You look as though you have had a revelation, Holmes," he said.

"I have, Watson, I have," replied Holmes. "Let me tell you all about it."


End file.
